


Edge

by fullonzombae



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, More tags to be added, Murder, Stalking, Zombies, crime fighting zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9814874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullonzombae/pseuds/fullonzombae
Summary: He wasn't expecting to find Liv on his doorstep at 3am. And he most certainly wasn't expecting her to need his help.





	1. Chapter 1

"I've killed people for less," Blaine muttered as Liv strode into his apartment. He glanced over at the clock on his wall. 3:12am. Liv didn't answer. She just made her way into his kitchen and began rummaging, pulling out pots and pans, and grabbed a tupperware tub from her bag.

Blaine's brow creased as he watched her movements with a mounting confusion. Liv Moore was in his kitchen, cooking him - breakfast? Dinner? Whatever you'd call it at this ungodly hour.

"You've also turned them into zombies for less," Liv finally retorted, looking up at him with a look that reminded him of every time she'd upped the ante, let him know that he was nothing more than despised for what he'd done to her. "But still. Not why I'm here." She tipped the brains into a frying pan and walked over to the fridge, frowning as she peered inside. "... Right. Someone clearly needs to go shopping."

Blaine folded his arms and glanced around his apartment. It wasn't a comment he intended to dignify with an answer, but it was a comment that somehow made him feel more exposed. (She was, after all, lucky that - for once - he hadn't been sleeping with nothing between his skin and the sheets, but a t-shirt wouldn't have gone amiss. Or something more than boxers.) As he spied a t-shirt on his armchair, he reached for it, watching as Liv cracked an egg into the pan.

"And you cook for people you hate on a regular basis, do you?" Blaine asked as he pulled the t-shirt over his head, smoothing out the creases. "Or do you have an ulterior motive, here. I mean, you could just ask me out to dinner. It'd be a lot..." Liv gave him a withering look, one that was enough to stop the next word from slipping out of his mouth.

"Double homicide," she explained, cutting off two slices of bread and dropping them into the toaster. "I've had her brains. But needless to say, I can't eat his. Else I lose everything she knows." A look of confusion crossed Blaine's face, before he held his hands up as if to ward off her suggestion.

"Oh no. No, no, you have the wrong zombie, Ms Moore. I'm not here to help. I'm not the crime fighting zombie of Seattle. I left you with that job." Her expression didn't change, still placid and calm, still waiting for his acceptance. "Look. Seattle PD and I aren't on the best of terms. You know why."

Liv rested her hands on the kitchen counter, and Blaine couldn't help but notice how at home she looked, as if she belonged there. "Of course I know why. But this one has nothing to do with Utopium, so you should be okay. Please, Blaine. I can't exactly ask Ravi to help out with this."

The silence that followed was broken by the sound of the toaster, startling Liv as if she'd forgotten that she was cooking in the first place. She glanced at the toast, before looking back at Blaine, her expression expectant, not quite venturing into pleading. After a moment, he sighed and walked into the kitchen, pulling back a stool. "Fine. But I'm doing this for the free meal, so don't get any ideas." Liv smiled, and Blaine hated to admit that his heart melted in response. She grabbed the toast and buttered it as she explained the case.

"They were colleagues; David Rowling and Jessica Mayhew. Both twenty-five. She was the manager of Blazers, he was a chef in the same bar. Friends for years, apparently. Inseparable."

"Right. Jealous boyfriend?"

"... There's no boyfriend." Liv scraped the brains and eggs from the pan and garnished the plate with some chilli sauce. "I've scoured her Facebook page, checked Twitter. She's as single as they come." She leant back against the counter, and Blaine struggled to keep his focus on her face. Her lips. He could settle on her lips.

 

* * *

 

"What's he doing here?" Ravi's tone was accusatory, and Blaine couldn't blame him. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, instead deciding to pace the crime scene. He'd been waved past Clive with an explanation from Liv, an excuse, a lie. They came like second nature to her, and Blaine found himself wondering how she had ever passed as so straight laced and law abiding.

"I needed someone to help." Liv set her bag down on the bar and hoisted herself onto the stool. "Now, unless you can find me another match on PlentyOfZombies, we're out of options."

Blaine headed for the jukebox, examining the tracklist as he waited for them to finish their character assassination. At least here he couldn't hear them. "Is this out of bounds?" he asked, leaning over to Clive. His answer came in a stony glare that told him his question could be filed under 'stupid things not to ask Detective Babineux'. Shame. He could have done with drowning a few things out.

Minutes passed, and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Kitchen. I need you in the kitchen," Liv whispered.

* * *

  
  


"I need you in the kitchen," Jessica's voice was sharp and demanding, and David sighed as he grabbed the last plate from the table.

"Do we have to do this now?" he hissed, looking up at the pissed expression upon her face. She folded her arms across her chest, and David knew there was no arguing with her. He followed her and dumped the plates by the sink. As he turned to face her, she grabbed him by the collar of his chef's jacket, pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss. His hands grasped at her sides, pulling her closer as he laughed against her lips. After a moment, he pulled away. "What? Got you jealous, did I?"

  
  


 

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Did he just do that..." Clive gestured, and Blaine looked at Liv, amused. "... Thing?"

Blaine leant against the jukebox and stretched, his t-shirt riding up slightly as he did so. "Knowledge is power, isn't that what they say? See, that's the thing, Detective. I could... really... solve the case long before you, with what I know. I could drip feed. You wouldn't know how much you're getting."

Liv cleared her throat. Ah. There was the problem. A zombie who knew exactly when Blaine was bluffing. He sighed. "They were having an affair. She was jealous over something or other, I'm guessing another woman, but he... well..." Clive raised an eyebrow, and Blaine looked over at Liv, grinning slightly. "It was hot."

The kitchen was exactly as he'd seen in the vision, except for a few pans out of place. Blaine walked over to the sink, sighing as he spotted the unwashed pans. He reached for the tap, only to be stopped by the sound of Clive behind him. "Mr DeBeers, may I remind you that this is a crime scene?" Oh, what a relief it was to know that Liv wasn't alone in her sanctimony. It must have been so comforting for her.

"Right. So I'm supposed to let the place fester? Environmental Health would have a field day in here. He's not even put the meat away!" He gestured at the rack of lamb on the counter, his annoyance clear on his face. Behind Clive, Liv stifled a giggle. It shouldn't have surprised Blaine that Liv would find this amusing, but for a moment, it caught him off guard, and he stared at her. Stunned. He tried desperately to remember a time he'd heard her laugh before, drawing up nothing but blanks. No, a sound as precious as that, he'd have remembered it. Committed it to memory and revisited it every time he'd been greeted with her unadulterated hatred. It was a simple law; one that Blaine knew only too well. Girls like Liv didn't want the 'bad boy'.

* * *

 

As he arrived back at Shady Plots, a middle-aged couple sat waiting in the reception. Blaine shrugged off his coat and offered them an apologetic smile. “Sorry, my assistant never told me that I had clients.” He ushered them through into his office, chastising Don E under his breath. “I swear, he seems to think I'm a mind reader.” He offered a hand and introduced himself, taking their introductions in return.

He hated the pomp and ceremony of funeral arrangements. He hated the faux sentiment that he had to plaster on, the apologies for their losses, the pretence that he could empathise. But he had come to learn that not everyone who stepped into his office to make arrangements was grieving. Some people were just biding the time between learning of their 'loved one's' passing and gaining the inheritance. 

Today's couple was the latter. Blaine hated them with every fibre of his being, watching how they faked their sorrow, faked their remorse, and remembered his own mother. He had been banned from the funeral under his father's orders. His father had given some excuse about how it wasn't right for a child to be there. 

They were blasé about the flowers, non-committal about the coffin, and couldn't care less about the location of the plot. Blaine couldn't bring himself to force a smile; they hardly deserved his kindness. It was her mother they were burying, and she had had forty years more of having a mother that she could look up to, pamper and adore than Blaine had. He envied her as he wondered if her mother had been the type of woman who put everything into her children, the way his own once had. You could read them, after a while. The ones who had reason to despise their parents, but still found it within them to forgive everything, and the ones who resented their parents for no reason at all. 

This woman didn't get a pony for Christmas, when she was six. He was sure of it.

* * *

 

As his clients left, Blaine headed down into the basement. Grace Lee, 74. He stood by the makeshift coffin, reading through the orders for her service. The silence of the room only complemented his mood. Any of the usual hubbub would have only served to frustrate him, enrage him, more than Mrs Lee's daughter already had. 

Blaine was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and he laid the foundation brush down on the table. “She's beginning to look a little more alive,” he said, turning to face his visitor. “Well, as alive as the dead ever do.” 

Liv tried not to smile, tried not to show her amusement, but the corner of her lips twitched all the same. She walked over to the table, examining Blaine's work with a critical eye. “I'm surprised. Was half expecting to find another Utopium den down here,” she said, adjusting a curl on the woman's head. She was answered with a scoff. 

“I told you. I'm a changed man.” 

“Doesn't mean I believe you.” 

Her sarcasm shouldn't have tickled him, but after the last meeting he'd had, it was a little mirth that came much too late. Blaine made his way to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, holding one out for Liv. “You're not down here for a drug's bust, are you? Because I bet Doctor Chakrabarti would hate to lose you to Vice.” He watched as she picked up the foundation brush, carefully blending the make-up. 

“Actually, no.” Liv looked up, and Blaine could have sworn her expression was softer than usual, less angry, less likely to reach for the nearest sharp object and lunge at him. Perhaps there was a God. “I...” She set down the brush and sighed, placing both hands on the table in front of her. “She's paranoid, Blaine. I'm jumping at everything. Jumped about a mile out of my skin because Peyton let the door slam earlier.” 

“And this brought you to my door because...” 

Disdain. That was the only way to describe the look that crossed Liv's face, and Blaine struggled to hide his amusement. It was a look that he didn't doubt Major, or even Lowell, had seen many a time in the midst of an argument, and it was a look he suspected could end the argument – not through conviction, but instead through the sheer cuteness of it all. 

Now, red eyes and full on zombie mode on the other hand...

“I get it.” He held up his hands defensively. “No jokes, no prodding... I'll behave.” It looked as if she relaxed and he waited for her to sit down on the stool. “Of course, you're expecting me to have had some groundbreaking vision that's going to explain why, and bam. Case solved.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Liv. Doesn't work like that. Good news, though.” He turned around and reached for his jacket. “If anyone can work out how to trigger a vision, it'll be one of us. Now. Isn't it my turn to cook?” 

 

 


End file.
